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Now this is worth getting the kids out of bed for – even after they’ve passed the point of chaos and are all settled and still.

That would be our dog Rufus, barking at a possum in our yard. If we still lived back in North Carolina, you might have good reason to call us rednecks. Around here though, it’s more en vogue to use the term hillbilly.

I had never seen a possum play dead before – I think maybe I believed it was just an old wives’ tale. Rufus and Scout barked at this thing for a long (loud) time, the kids pelted it with rocks (most badly aimed) and Rufus grabbed it a couple of times and dragged it. Mr. Possum convinced gullible me that he was thoroughly dead. (Not enough that I was brave enough to touch him or that I would let Malin go down off the porch and see him. I read Pet Sematary almost 2 decades ago, but I haven’t forgotten it! And I’ve heard that the average possum can be very fierce and growly….) Now I’m picturing Malin in her PJs encountering a hissing possum. Somehow I just don’t see her screaming like a girl and running away…

But now the dogs are quiet and the possum is gone.

I wanted one of them to eat it and teach it a lesson.